


Andlát

by renlem



Series: Stjarnavetr [8]
Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Grief, Illness, Love, Loving Sex, Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5997076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renlem/pseuds/renlem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stjarnavetr’s father, Andimódr, suddenly grows ill, and Loki does his best to comfort Stjarna in her time of grieving. </p><p>(This one shot takes place somewhere between Parts I and II.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Andlát

Stjarnavetr

Loki rolled off of me and fell onto his back with a great, satisfied exhale of breath. I stared up at the ceiling, my own breaths coming heavily, and squeezed my legs together beneath the covers, feeling that slick combination of him and me on my inner thighs.

“Fuck, Stjarna…” he breathed, and I grinned and let my head fall to the side. I watched the dramatic rise and fall of his chest as he attempted to catch his breath, and then how he pushed his hair back from his face. 

I turned onto my side and moved closer to him. I rose up and laid halfway on top of him, supporting myself above him on my forearms, and lowered my head to lightly kiss him.

“Did you miss me?” I murmured, playfully touching my nose to his.

He smirked against my lips and said breathlessly, “What gave it away?”

I had just returned from my father’s house this afternoon and though I had only been gone for two days this time, Loki had acted as if I had been gone a month. It had been no surprise to me upon entering his chambers tonight after dinner how quickly he had pulled me into his bed.

And though I did not say it, I had missed him as well. I was no longer used to sleeping alone—had not been for such a long time now—and was always discomforted when forced to do so.

I kissed Loki once more before turning onto my back and resting my head on his outstretched arm. He folded his other arm under his head and sighed. 

“I am selfish,” Loki remarked.

I laughed quietly. “I already knew that.”

“I do not like it when you leave, is what I mean,” he explained, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I do not like it when you are gone from my bed.”

I rolled my eyes and bit back a laugh. “Oh, how you must suffer.”

He bent his arm to place his hand on my forehead and tilted my head up so I had to look at him. 

“You mock me, but it is true.”

I grinned. “Do you pine for me, Loki, when I am gone from your bed?”

“I do,” he confessed, with just the barest hint of a smirk as he moved his hand away to kiss me on the forehead.

I laughed at his admission and grabbed his hand to hold it by my shoulder.

“So did you have a good time?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

“Was Réttrmund there? I’ve not seen him in a while.”

“No, but he was there a few days ago,” I answered. “Konavefr says he is very well.”

Réttrmund, no longer the little boy who used to play with wooden swords and fight invisible enemies, had grown up into a handsome young man with bright prospects. He had not lost his passion for fighting, as I thought he would have, and eventually had joined the Allfather’s elite guard.

It had been a proud day for all of us when he had been sworn in to the ranks of the Einherjar. Loki had even vouched for him, and despite how the others viewed him, his word had carried some weight. And though Réttrmund said there had been some initial reluctance from the other warriors, since he was a Van, eventually he was accepted and had risen in the ranks.

He was away from home most of the time, but on the days he was not on duty, he would come back and visit his mother and father. He had remained unwed all this time, but I knew there was a woman in the city he saw regularly and I waited impatiently for the day when he would marry her, for I knew he loved her.

I saw him sometimes around the palace and occasionally he even trained when Loki was there. Loki liked Réttrmund, which though pleased me also surprised me, since Loki seemingly did not like anybody.

“Was Svinn there?” Loki asked, his voice suddenly a little harder than before.

I hesitated. “No.”

“Good. I do not like him.”

“I know,” I said quietly, “but he is still my brother.”

Loki scoffed. “It does not excuse the way he speaks to you. I want to be there the next time he says something to you. I will have his tongue branded—”

“Loki!” I cried, looking up at him in alarm. “Do not say things like that.”

“I will say things like that,” he retorted. “The way he treats you is unacceptable.” 

I glanced back down and absently played with Loki’s fingers, thinking of Svinn. 

The change in my youngest brother had been fairly gradual. Used to, when he was little, he would be thrilled to see me, just as Réttrmund had always been, but as time passed and he began to mature, for some reason he grew increasingly distant not just from me, but from both Father and Réttrmund as well. He left the house as soon as he was able and now ran a successful tavern in the city. He lived with his wife and two children, all of whom I had only seen less than a handful of times even though both of his children were very nearly grown. 

Svinn would still occasionally visit the house, but only to see Konavefr, with whom he still had a somewhat affable relationship. But it was as if he did not approve of Father or Réttrmund or me. Réttrmund said he was jealous of his and Father’s success, which I could believe, but I knew the reason he looked down on me was because of my place as Loki’s mistress. He thought my being the prince’s lover was degrading and that it reflected badly on him and the family.

He did not speak to me of his own accord and the rare times we did see each other, usually simply by chance, it was not with affection or brotherly love that he looked at me, but with contempt. And so it seemed there was nothing I could do; I had before attempted reconciliation between us, but he was never receptive to it.

Sensing my reluctance to speak further on the matter, Loki said, “And Andimódr?”

Now I smiled. “Father did not have any commissions the first day I was there and we spent the day together.”

“That is good.”

“Yes, we went to the city.”

“What did you do?”

“We only wandered around, but I very much enjoyed it. I do not get to spend much time with him since it seems he is always away with a commission.”

“Well, he is very popular,” Loki observed. “Many want his work.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “but I still would like to spend more time with him.”

I let go of Loki’s hand, turned onto my side, and draped my leg over the front of his hips beneath the covers. I put my hand on his chest and began to play with the sparse hair on his chest.

“We talked about you,” I whispered.

“Did you? I hope you spoke favorably of me,” Loki laughed.

“I did,” I assured him.

“So what did you say?”

“Father asked me if I was still happy. He almost always asks me that when we are alone. He seems very concerned about it.”

“As he should be,” Loki said. “He is your father.”

“Yes… but I told him I was very happy with you.” And then I laughed. “I remember when he first came here, when you invited him from Vanaheim, he did not seem pleased at all that I was with you.”

Loki chuckled. “That is understandable.”

I smiled, but then suddenly remembered something. I looked up at Loki.

“He wants to paint me.”

“Does he?”

“Yes. It’s much too cold to do it now, but when it warms up he will. I am very excited. He’s not painted me in so long.”

“How long has it been?”

I was silent for a long moment, thinking. And then, “It was before my mother died.”

Loki did not say anything to that.

“He used to paint me back home—in Vanaheim, I mean.” I quickly corrected myself, for I tried not to think of Vanaheim as home anymore. Asgard was my home and I tried my hardest to view it like that, but it was not too difficult to do. Asgard was where my family was now—where Loki was.

“Yes?” Loki breathed, encouraging me to continue even though I knew I had told him of this before.

“When I was a little girl, he would sit me out in the garden and put flowers in my hair and lap and he would practice. He liked it best when it was sunny. He said that was when my hair was the most beautiful to paint.”

“I agree,” Loki said, curling a lock of my hair around his finger.

I smiled and then murmured, “He would paint my mother, too. He painted us together once… I wonder what happened to that painting. Father and Konavefr hardly brought over any belongings, I know. It was probably left behind, but I shall ask him next week…”

I remembered that it had been a small painting. Father had painted it for my mother and she had cherished it and the thought that it might have been left behind or lost greatly saddened me, for I had nothing left from my mother.

“Did you like it when he painted you?” Loki asked.

“Yes. He would talk to me and tell me stories so I would not grow bored. Sometimes Mother would come out and sit and watch.”

I could so clearly remember those warm, peaceful mornings and afternoons. Father with his stand and paints, Mother off to the side sewing or tending to the garden, and I trying my hardest to sit still and not fidget so as to not mess Father up. I remembered how occasionally Mother would even bring food out and we would picnic on the grass.

Now I sought Loki’s hand, which was resting near to my shoulder, and held it. Tears blurred my vision and I swallowed hard; Loki, sensing my sudden distress, kissed me on the top of my head.

“Stjarna?”

“I am just remembering,” I whispered with a small smile.

“What is it?”

I tilted my head up to look at him and my chin trembled. “My mother. I miss her.”

Loki saw the tears in my eyes and squeezed my hand, attempting to comfort me. 

“Would you tell me about her?” he inquired softly.

I gave a small nod, appreciating his regard for me. It had been so long since I had spoken of her, and especially to Loki. I knew my father did not often speak of her, for the mere memory of her was painful to him. 

“She was very beautiful,” I whispered. “She had lovely brown hair and blue eyes. She loved to smile and laugh. And to sing, she loved to sing… I remember when I was little, when I could not sleep, she would lie in my bed with me and sing lullabies to me…”

When I trailed off, Loki said quietly, “Frigga sang to me.”

I smiled and looked up at him. “She did?”

“Yes, but I eventually told her to stop because Thor made fun of me, even though I know now that she sang to him, too.”

Though my eyes were filled with tears, I laughed at Loki’s admission. When he did not say anything else, though, I looked back down and memories of my mother and what used to be came back and I grew melancholy again.

“My mother died in childbirth. I was seventeen years old. I did not know what to do and neither did my father. It was Konavefr, who lived nearby, who helped us through it. She and my mother were such good friends. She was there when she died.”

By now I could barely hear myself, my voice was so weak and choked with tears.

I could remember it, one of the worst nights of my life: my mother lying in that bed, skin glistening with sweat in the firelight, hair plastered to her tired face. The birth had been long and hard and fruitless; the babe, a sickly little girl, had died not even an hour after birth, and then my mother had followed not half an hour later.

I recalled the words of the midwife afterwards when she explained how my mother had bled to death inside. She had said it was difficult to tell when that happened—some women bled out and you could see it, but some did not. She told us if she had known sooner she could have stopped it and healed my mother inside using her seidr, but she had been preoccupied with keeping the babe alive and it had all happened too quickly.

After a long moment, I glanced up at Loki. He was morosely staring ahead and appeared to be ruminating on something and I wondered if he was thinking of the queen.

“Do not take her for granted, Loki.”

“I do not,” he replied, looking down at me, and I could tell that he had indeed been thinking of her.

“She loves you so much.”

“I know.”

But I shook my head. “You do not realize, though. You cannot know until it is too late.”

Now I curled into him, fighting the tears I could feel rising in my throat.

“And your father,” I breathed. 

Loki did not respond to that.

“He loves you, Loki, though sometimes it may not seem like it. But he does.”

Once again, though, Loki made no reply. I knew he probably felt uncomfortable talking about this, for he had never been one to speak so loosely or so easily about such sentimental things. Only rarely did he speak so.

“I am sorry,” I murmured.

Loki shook his head. “Do not be.”

I slowly closed my eyes, not wanting to talk about this anymore. And though my thoughts were sad, it was easy to fall asleep like this, with Loki’s arm around me and the comforting sound of his heartbeat in my ears.

__

Less than one week later, two days before I was slated to visit Father, Loki and I were lying asleep in his bed. It was late—the fire was built high, for the days had grown colder as winter approached, but it was not terribly chilly inside because Loki had shut the door that led out to his balcony.

We had been sleeping for a while when suddenly there came a knocking on Loki’s door in the other room.

I was the first to wake—I slowly opened my eyes and upon realizing somebody was at Loki’s door, turned over to face him. He was lying on his side facing away from me and I touched his bare back. 

“Loki?”

He did not wake.

“Loki,” I said a little more loudly, pushing at him. 

He grunted, but otherwise did not stir.

“Somebody’s at your door,” I whispered tiredly.

“Yes, I hear,” he murmured.

“Are you going to get it?”

He groaned and pushed the covers down and I grinned to myself as he sat up and bent down to grope for his pants on the floor. He got out of the bed and tugged his pants on and my smile widened as he muttered, “This had better be fucking important.”

I curled back up beneath the covers and closed my eyes as Loki left. I heard the door in the other room open and then Loki talking with whoever it was at the door, but their voices were indistinct and I could not discern the nature of their conversation, nor in that moment could I be bothered to care.

But then, “Stjarna?”

I opened my eyes and lifted up on my arms.

Loki was standing in the doorway and I felt a terrible foreboding when I saw his expression. 

“You need to get dressed,” he said grimly, going to fetch my dress from the chair where I had left it hanging earlier tonight.

I felt a coldness run through me. “What is wrong?”

“It is your father,” he replied, coming around the bed towards me. Before he had even reached me, I threw the covers off, got out of the bed, and grabbed my dress from his hands. I quickly pulled it on, feeling this sick panic churning in my stomach.

“What is wrong?” I asked worriedly as Loki turned me around and took over tying the laces up my back. 

“The page only said he was ill. Réttrmund is waiting.”

“Réttrmund?”

I knew Réttrmund was off duty for the next few days. I had anticipated seeing him when I went down to the city to visit Father—he must have come to fetch me.

“Where is he?”

“The stables. The page is waiting for us outside the door.”

I went quickly into the other room once Loki had finished with my laces, frantically searching for my shoes, and just as I found them, Loki brought me my fur-lined cloak. 

“It is cold outside,” he remarked, draping it over my shoulders.

I looked up at him, tears already brimming in my eyes. When Loki saw my pitiful expression he said, “Do you want me to come with you?”

My voice cracked. “Please…”

He nodded. “Then let us go.”

I felt such relief and waited apprehensively while Loki quickly found his tunic and cloak and then pulled on his boots. Within a minute or so we were out in the corridor, following the page to the stables. 

The entire time, I was shaking from fear and my heart was pounding in my chest. As I wrapped my cloak even more tightly around me, I wondered anxiously what Réttrmund had meant. Father had seemed perfectly fine the last time I had seen him.

Finally, we made it to the stables and I saw Réttrmund standing by his own horse. I could see the frozen breath of the animal every time it exhaled and could likewise see Réttrmund’s own cloud of breath in the bitterly cold night air.

“What has happened?” I demanded as soon as I walked up to him. 

“Father fell ill just hours ago,” he explained. “We know not what it is. I called for a healer, but she has yet been unable to improve his condition. Konavefr wished me to fetch you.”

A cold dread filled me and I looked behind me at Loki, who gazed piteously at me before ordering a young, sleepy-looking stablehand to fetch his own horse.

Loki’s horse was quickly prepared and brought and as he mounted it, he said to the boy, “Inform the queen that I have gone down to the city. It is to do with Stjarnavetr.”

The boy nodded and Loki turned towards me. He held his hand out and helped me up behind him just as Réttrmund mounted his own horse. I wrapped my arms around Loki’s waist and buried my face in his back to block out the sharp breeze stinging my face as he urged the horse onwards.

Though our pace was not slow by any means, I thought it took entirely too long to reach Father’s house. And then finally—it seemed an eternity later—we made it. By this time I was sick with worry and before Loki had even pulled his horse to a stop, I was sliding down to the ground from behind him. I practically ran for the door and felt trepidation when I opened it.

Svinn was there, much to my surprise, and so were a couple of the neighboring people that Father and Konavefr had befriended these past years.

I saw the beginning of a sneer form on Svinn’s face, but in that moment I hardly noticed.

“Where is he?” I asked fearfully.

Svinn’s snide expression melted away at the worry in my voice and he led me silently into Father and Konavefr’s room.

My breath caught in my throat. 

Konavefr sat in a chair next to the bed, wisps of hair hanging haphazardly around her exhausted face. I barely noticed the healer in the corner of the room, mixing something in a bowl, before my eyes drifted down to my father, who lay unmoving in the bed and already appearing half-dead. The first thing I thought of was my mother lying there and my stomach twisted in fear.

I went warily to my father’s bedside and sat in the empty chair there. I gingerly took his hand into mine. It was alarmingly cold.

“Father?” I murmured.

“He cannot hear,” Konavefr whispered.

I stared at his chest, which rose and fell slowly with his labored breathing, and tears filled my eyes. I looked up at Konavefr.

“What happened?” I asked sorrowfully.

She shook her head and glanced at the healer and then back at me. She sighed and looked down at her hand, which was clasped with Father’s.

“I know not,” she said faintly. “He seemed fine yesterday…”

“Yes?”

“He said to me this morning that he felt ill, but he thought nothing of it, and then by this afternoon he could not even stand and it has only gotten worse…”

I looked back down at him and my chin trembled. “Oh, Father…”

And then Konavefr said, sounding somewhat startled, “Your Highness.”

I turned my head and saw Loki standing by the doorway, almost as if he was reluctant to come closer.

Konavefr remarked in a hushed tone, “I did not realize you had come…”

“I asked him to,” I explained quietly. “I hope you do not mind, Konavefr…”

She shook her head and offered a small smile for Loki. “No, I am glad you came.”

Loki inclined his head towards her, but otherwise did not speak. He came to stand behind me and I turned back to my father.

I sat by his bedside for the next three hours.

I watched as the healer attempted twice to administer some type of medicine to him, but he was unresponsive to it. Finally she told Konavefr she could do no more and that we could only wait, which did not bode well. 

I felt so helpless sitting there, for I could do nothing, only sit by and watch him deteriorate. It was one of the worst feelings, this nauseating uncertainty, and it took everything I had not to periodically burst into tears.

After a while, Réttrmund wished to sit by him and I reluctantly gave up my spot. I was very tired anyway and had not seen Loki for the past hour. He had stayed with me for the first hour or so, but then had left the room and I had not seen him since. I went back into the main room and searched for him. He was not there, but I saw Svinn standing by the wall, arms folded over his chest, and he glanced at me.

Going against my better judgment, I went up to him.

I said, almost carefully, “Svinn?”

“What?”

“Have you sat with him?”

“Yes,” he responded irritably, as if offended that I should ask such a ridiculous question. “Before you and… before you came.”

I knew he spoke of Loki.

And then before I could reply, he said, voice edged with scorn, “Why did you bring him?”

I hesitated at his acidic tone. “I wanted him to come…”

Svinn scoffed and suddenly I felt frustration.

“Why must you be like this? Can you not put all of this aside?”

“No,” he snapped, though he kept his voice low. “You disgrace yourself and us by being with him, no less by bringing him here. Especially now.”

“Why?” I asked, hurt and astounded that he could be like this.

“Because he is not family,” Svinn sneered. “He does not belong here.”

I looked away from him, then, both angered and saddened. I slowly turned away from him, went to the door, and stepped outside into the cold night air. I glanced over and was surprised to see Loki standing near the corner of the house.

I went to him, wrapping my cloak tighter around me, and said, “Loki?”

Loki turned around at my voice and nearly immediately opened his arms. He enfolded me in an embrace and I let my head rest against his chest.

“How is he?” Loki murmured, kissing the top of my head.

I shook my head and closed my eyes. “He is not well. The healer has given up.”

Loki said skeptically, “I doubt she knows what she is doing. I could have Eir down here within the hour. She is the best healer in all of Asgard…”

I looked up at Loki and his voice trailed off. By my expression he could tell it would do no good. I knew it in my heart, but did not want to actually say it. Eir’s presence would do nothing more for my father. I did not tell Loki, but they had already tried many things. Konavefr had even attempted to use her seidr on him, but it had done little to improve his condition. 

After a long moment, I said quietly, wishing to momentarily think of something else, “Why are you out here? It is so cold.”

“The cold does not bother me as much as being in the house.”

I stared at him, puzzled.

He kissed my forehead. “I began to grow angry just looking at Svinn and it was clear he did not like me there. I decided it better if I came out here, since I did not think this night a good one for confrontation. Besides, I think my presence was making some of the others uncomfortable.”

I thought of what Svinn had said. Surely the others did not mind Loki being here? It was only Svinn who felt that way, was it not? 

When I did not say anything, Loki gave a small sigh. “Stjarna, it is cold. You should go back inside—”

“Come back with me.”

Loki seemed hesitant.

I took his hand in mine. “Please…”

“Alright,” he acquiesced.

I turned and led him back into the house and out of the freezing air.

I did not remain long in the main room where Svinn and some of the other neighbors were, but instead took Loki into the room where my father lay.

There were a couple of chairs against the wall, probably put there by Konavefr or Réttrmund earlier on, and I sat down and Loki wordlessly followed suit. I held his hand tightly in my lap and rested my head against his shoulder, watching miserably my father lie unresponsive in the bed.

Loki and I sat there for perhaps two hours in complete silence. Konavefr did not leave my father’s bedside and Réttrmund came and went, along with some of the others. I noticed that Svinn would sometimes linger in the doorway, but then would often turn away and go back into the other room.

Every so often the healer would check on my father’s condition, but there was never any change to report, except that he was worsening. Everybody knew, but nobody would dare say it—even hint at it—and the very air seemed so heavy and solemn. 

Eventually it became too much for me. I let go of Loki’s hand, which I had been holding this entire time, and stood up. I went to Father’s bedside and knelt there, for Réttrmund currently occupied the chair.

I studied Father’s face and thought of how many times I had kissed his worn cheek.

I smoothed his hair back, which had already been smoothed back countless times by Konavefr, and said shakily, “You must get better, Father.”

I knew not what else to say, and some small, foolish part of me hoped he might be able to somehow hear me, hoped my words might have any effect on him. But I knew he could not hear me and I took his hand into mine and leaned down to press a lingering kiss to his temple.

“I love you,” I breathed, and I could hear the tears in my voice.

Of course he did not respond and I wanted to cry, but I swallowed my tears. I kissed him once more, silently imploring him to improve in any way, and then stood back up. I slowly went back to Loki, took his hand, and led him out of the room. As Loki and I made our way to the door, I could feel Svinn’s stare on my back, but I did not look. 

I had only wished for some fresh air and once we were outside, Loki and I ended up by the fence.

“Are you alright?” he inquired, pushing a stray hair away from my face.

I felt I could not even speak and only gave a miserable little shake of my head.

It was still dark outside and the air was bitterly cold, but I hardly felt it. My entire body was shaking, but I was not sure if it was from the cold or the nauseating fear I felt. But merely Loki’s presence brought what little comfort could be had in this situation. 

After a few minutes of silence, I glanced over. I could see the light of day peeking over the horizon, just beginning to cast its yellow warmth over the cold blue veil of night.

And it was in that moment that from within the house I heard Konavefr’s wailing.

I stared at the warm light, feeling my blood run cold, and then suddenly it was as if all of the feeling went out of my legs. I fell to my knees onto the hard ground and reached out to grasp the fence. I put my forehead against the fencepost and squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the wood so tightly that my knuckles ached.

And then Loki was kneeling next to me, pulling me into his arms. I leaned into him and buried my face in his chest and then the sobs burst out of me. He put his head against mine and held me there until the light of day had chased away the night and filled the sky and I could not cry anymore.

__

The queen allowed me time off to grieve for my father.

The mourning would last one week before he was to be interred and I spent much of that time down at the house with Konavefr and Réttrmund, who had also been given temporary leave from the Allfather’s guard. There were preparations to be done, decisions to be made.

I was not as involved in them as was Réttrmund, who took charge of it and handled it all, but mostly was there to comfort and be comforted. I cried to myself at night and then often during the day, as well, when I could no longer hold it in. I suppose it was almost jarring to think that I should never see my father again, how one day he had been there and everything had been fine and then the next he was gone. But I was not alone in my grief—I often caught Konavefr quietly weeping to herself and sometimes even found Réttrmund restraining himself from tears. 

I did not see Loki much during that week, except on the sixth day after my father’s death.

Tomorrow would be the interment and then afterwards the drinking of ale down at the house, when we would officially acknowledge Father’s death and when all of his belongings, such as the house and land he had paid off to the queen long ago, would pass to his eldest son, Réttrmund.

Though I should have been down at the house, I had chosen to spend the night here with Loki. I did not wish to lie alone tonight, for I knew merely lying next to Loki would bring me consolation. I had missed him terribly this past week, for I knew he could comfort me in a way that Konavefr or Réttrmund could not.

That night, we ate a small meal together in his chambers and retired early.

I could not fall asleep, though. I could not stop thinking of my father and my mother, both of them in Hel, where surely they had both gone after death. But they said Helheim, the realm of the dead, a place shrouded in mystery and myth, was not necessarily a terrible place; it was only where you went when you died, where you went to carry on after life. Whatever it was, I hoped my father had found my mother there and that, if it was possible, they were content.

And I thought of all of this as I laid there, staring absently at the dancing flames in the fireplace, watching the way they cast flickering shadows over the walls and furniture.

After a while, Loki shifted behind me and I thought he might have been turning over, but then I felt him put his nose to the back of my shoulder. I remained still as he kissed me through my nightgown and then wrapped an arm around my middle and pulled me closer.

I let out a soft breath and closed my eyes when he gently pulled my nightgown down over my shoulder to kiss my bare skin.

“Loki,” I breathed, slightly turning my head.

He did not say anything at first, but continued kissing my skin, caressing it with his lips, wetting it with his tongue. And then he murmured, “What can I do?”

When I did not reply, unsure of how to answer, he turned me onto my back and rose up on his arms over me. I lay there unmoving and stared up at him as he lowered his head and tenderly kissed me. I tentatively responded, trying to decide in the back of my mind whether this was right or wrong; I knew Loki probably thought this would make me feel better and after a moment of indecision I thought perhaps he was right.

Maybe it would help me to forget, if only for a little while…

I lifted my head to hesitantly deepen the kiss and then took his hand, which was splayed on the bed next to me, and guided it to my breast. Loki brushed his fingers over my nipple and even through my nightgown I could feel it all through my body and suddenly I wanted more.

Before Loki could pay any further attention to my breast, I was pulling his hand down my body and over my belly to the spot between my legs. I let out a small whimper into his mouth when he cupped me and rubbed his fingers over my sex through the thin fabric.

I closed my eyes and guided Loki’s movements, opening my legs a little wider to encourage him. He dragged his lips away from mine and moved to kiss the side of my throat, and I could hear his breaths coming a little more quickly, could feel them warm on my neck.

And though there was this feeling of guilt prickling oddly in the back of my mind, I did not want to stop—I loved the feeling of his fingers on me, loved him touching me like this, and I wanted to push past it, knowing it would help me to at least momentarily escape my grief.

I let go of Loki’s hand, still nestled between my thighs, and grabbed a fistful of my gown and pulled it up. Once the front of it was bunched around my waist, I took Loki’s hand and once more guided his fingers into the warmth between my legs. Loki was still kissing my neck and pressing against me and I could feel the wetness of his tongue on my skin, the brief sharpness of his teeth as he lightly bit me.

As Loki continued to kiss and touch me, I could still feel this innate sense of wrongness, but I tried to ignore it—I wanted to lie with Loki, I wanted to forget, and then he dragged his fingers down through my folds and dipped them inside me.

And suddenly it was too much, it was too wrong.

Almost frantically I pushed Loki’s hand away and he lifted his head up to look at me.

“Stjarna?” he breathed.

I could feel my eyes filling with tears. “I…” I gave a little shake of my head. “I’m sorry, Loki…”

He furrowed his brows. “What is it?”

“I can’t…”

“Why not?”

“It is wrong,” I whispered, sitting up and pushing him off of me. I turned to sit on the edge of the bed and pulled my nightgown back down over my legs. 

“Wrong?” Loki said from behind me.

I shook my head again. I could hardly explain it, that I should lie with him and enjoy it not even a week after my father’s death… I did not think I could actually do it, even though I knew it would make me feel better, if only fleetingly. The feeling of guilt was too strong.

“What is wrong about it?” Loki inquired, keeping his voice low.

“It just is,” I answered, a little more sharply than I intended.

Loki did not say anything for a long while. And then he sighed. “I will be honest with you, Stjarna. I know not how to comfort you. I know not what to say or do, so I want you to tell me. What do you want me to do?”

I slowly turned my head and saw him sitting up, carefully watching me.

“Could we… could we just lie here? And you hold me?”

“Yes,” he said softly.

I turned around and crawled back into the bed. Loki lay back and opened his arms and I settled into his warm embrace, feeling both regret for having suddenly denied him as I had, and gratefulness that he had taken it in stride, and I fell asleep much more comforted than I had been before.

__

The next morning, I awoke before Loki.

He was facing away from me and I managed a small smile when I heard him snoring softly into the pillow. I moved closer to him, wrapped my arm around his torso, and pressed my nose into his spine.

I woke him up with the movement, which was ultimately my goal, and he turned his head.

“Stjarna?” he murmured.

I kissed his skin lightly right before he turned over and pulled me into his arms. He buried his face between my neck and shoulder.

“Is it time to go yet?” he breathed, his breath tickling my skin.

“Not yet.”

Loki would be attending my father’s burial today, as well as the drinking of the ale afterwards. That he would come with me touched me deeply, since he did not have to because of his responsibilities. 

“Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“Loki.”

Now he lifted his head to look at me. 

I put my hand on his cheek and said plaintively, “I am sorry about last night.”

“No,” he replied, placing a kiss on my forehead. “You need not apologize.”

We lay there for perhaps another hour, sometimes in silence, sometimes whispering to one another, almost as if we feared raising our voices above a murmur might somehow shatter the peace of the early morning.

Finally, though, we had to pull ourselves away from each other to ready for the day, so we could see my father laid in the ground and for us to formally acknowledge his passing and the beginning of a new generation.

__

Father would be laid to rest in a field west of the city, where mounds dotted the landscape to make visible the graves of the dead. Father was only an artist; he would not be burned as those great warriors or those of noble birth, but we would have the best we could for him.

He would be interred with many of his belongings, as was the custom. The grave had been dug earlier in the week due to the cold and the hardness of the ground and we stood there in wretched silence, Loki holding me as I fought back tears, as he was lowered into the earth and his things placed into the grave with him. He was covered up until there was a mound above his body, and then a rune stone was raised above it with his name on it.

Afterwards we returned to the house for the feast and the drinking of the ale. This was where the house and land passed to Réttrmund. It was apparent to all that he would allow Konavefr to continue living there, though he was now head of the household and would often be away at the palace.

Svinn, who did not receive much, seemed rather upset about it all, though he kept it to himself. This saddened me, since he acted as if he was not a part of the family.

I was somewhat relieved when the time came for Loki and I to depart. Though I was disconsolate over the loss of my father, I almost wished for all this to be over as soon as possible. It was difficult for me to see Konavefr so sad, to see such sorrow etched onto the faces of those around me, for my father had been an admired and well-respected man here and many had come to mourn his passing.

Loki went outside to prepare his horse and I bid farewell to the others. As I headed for the door afterwards, I glanced over and saw Svinn leaning against the wall, standing away from many of the others.

I had not bid him farewell initially, but now paused. I suspected it still was not a good idea to speak to him, but I walked up to him anyway.

I asked him if he was alright and he only gave a curt nod, as if he did not wish to converse with me.

“Svinn,” I said sadly. “Please do not be like this.”

“Then how should I be?” he responded dryly.

I gave a frustrated sigh. “Today is not about you. You—”

“Then who is it about?”

I stared at him. “Father…”

He scoffed. “You say this, sister, and yet you deigned to bring the prince?”

“What? Loki knew Father! What is wrong with him having attended the funeral?”

“You truly ask me that?” Svinn asked incredulously, looking at me as if I was stupid. “His very presence dishonors Father’s memory—”

“How?” I nearly cried. 

“Because you are his mistress!” he hissed, voice tinged with disgust. “I do not understand how Father could even bear to look upon you without shame.”

“How can you be like this?” I said despondently. “What have I done to you, Svinn?”

“It is what you are,” he replied sourly. “You are a whore and have always been a whore and will never be anything else. How can I possibly respect you when you do not even have respect for yourself? You are a disgrace to this family.”

I stared at him, lips parted in shock. He stared unabashedly back, but then shook his head and brushed past me. I slowly closed my mouth, feeling my eyes fill with tears. I hardly knew what to think.

But after a moment, I quickly wiped my eyes and took a moment to collect myself. I turned around, determined not to cry, and was thankful to notice that our heated conversation had drawn no curious looks. Though I felt like bursting into weeping, in truth that was not the cruelest thing Svinn had ever said to me, though it cut especially deep on this particular day.

I went outside, hoping Loki would not be able to sense my distress, but of course he immediately stopped me. 

“Stjarna?”

I shook my head and tried to go past him, but he took me gently by the arm and made me look up at him.

When my chin trembled, his face darkened. 

“Svinn?”

I nodded, already once again on the verge of tears.

“What did he say?”

I shook my head. I did not want to tell him, but Loki apparently did not need to hear, for he immediately let go and went to walk past me.

Before he had gotten two steps, though, I caught his arm and cried, “No! Loki, stop!”

He turned back around and said angrily, “He cannot do this to you, Stjarna.”

“Please don’t,” I begged. “Not today.”

Loki looked slightly remorseful at my tone.

“Please can we just go back to the palace?”

Loki paused for a moment, but then finally gave a small nod. He went back to his horse, mounted it, and then helped me up behind him. I wrapped my arms around him, rested my cheek against his back, and closed my teary eyes.

As we rode back in silence, I thought of my father and what Svinn had said. Though I thought it silly I should take Svinn’s words so seriously, I could not help but to ruminate on it all. I knew there were many who would view me as a disgrace to my family, being unwed and a man’s mistress, but Father had not viewed me with shame, had he? 

The thought of that broke my heart, but I tried to convince myself that it could not be true. Father had always been so happy to see me, he loved spending time with me, and I with him. It could not be true, Svinn was only being vindictive.

The thought that Father had looked upon me with shame, that he had been disappointed in me, terrified me, and yet I could not get it out of my mind. And then the thought that I should never see him again drove me even deeper into this sorrow.

Upon reaching the palace, and at my insistence, Loki and I returned to his chambers. I stood in front of the fire, warming myself up, as Loki took his cloak off and hung it up. 

“Do you want to eat in here tonight?” Loki asked softly.

“Yes,” I murmured.

There was a brief silence.

And then, “What did Svinn say?”

I did not immediately reply. In truth I was hesitant to tell Loki what Svinn had said because I knew he would become heated, but then I also knew he would press me until I told him. I was surprised he had not pestered me about it on the way back to the palace.

But before I could answer, suddenly an intense feeling of sadness overwhelmed me and my chin trembled and I closed my eyes and could not help the sob that welled up in my throat. I put my hands over my face and began to quietly weep and then Loki was next to me, pulling me into an embrace.

It took me a minute before I could calm down enough to speak, but finally I whispered tearfully, “He called me a whore. He said he wondered how F—Father could ever look at me without shame and that I am a disgrace to my family…”

Loki exhaled sharply, most likely in anger, but then kissed the side of my head.

“You know none of that is true,” he assured, but I did not say anything and he held me until my cries had tapered off.

“Why does he hate me so?” I said sadly. “What have I done to him?”

Loki curled his fingers under my chin and made me look at him. “Stjarna, you have done nothing. It is him.”

I shook my head miserably. “But I want him to love me. He is my brother.”

Loki looked slightly penitent. “Sometimes things are just not meant to be. There may be nothing you can do.”

I looked down, on the verge of crying again. “But what if he is right?”

“Right about what?”

“What if Father was ashamed of me?”

Loki’s voice was firm. “Andimódr was not ashamed of you, Stjarna. How could you think that? He loved you.”

Now I slowly looked down, tears blurring my vision. “But I cannot remember.”

“Remember what?” Loki said gently.

“I cannot remember the last time I told him I loved him…”

“It was by his bedside. I was sitting there—”

“No, before that. He could not hear me, Loki, and I… I cannot remember if I told him I loved him the last time I saw him.” I looked up at him in worry. “What if I did not say it?”

“Stjarna,” Loki murmured, trying to console me. “Andimódr knew that you loved him. Even if you did not say it, there was no need.”

I shook my head, unconvinced. His words did not reassure me in the least, even though I knew they should have.

“I did not see him enough,” I then said miserably. “I should have visited more often, we should have spent more time together…”

Instead of replying, though, Loki only rested his head against mine and gently stroked my hair. I held him tightly and could feel the tears coming again.

“I miss him,” I whispered miserably.

And as I began to cry again and Loki stood there with his arms around me, I thought how incredibly lucky I was to have one such as Loki that would comfort me and hold me like this until I could cry no more.

__

A couple of weeks passed.

I still thought of my father, but I did not cry as often and it grew a little easier to get up in the morning, especially with Loki being there.

I was exceedingly grateful for Loki and had been conscious of how understanding he had been these past weeks. I knew he was not the sympathetic type, but he had not pushed me or grown impatient with me when sometimes I began crying or grew melancholy. Always he seemed so considerate and when I only wished for us to lie in silence, he did so unquestioningly. I greatly appreciated him and told him this, but he had said not to thank him for it—he only wished for me to feel better.

One night, the night before I was to go down to the house to see Konavefr, for she had asked me to visit for something, Loki and I lay in his bed. He lay behind me on his side, his front pressed to my back. He had one arm wrapped around me and was gently stroking my hand with his thumb.

It had been like this every night for the past two weeks. Every night I came from the queen’s chambers after dinner, and every night I wanted to go straight to bed. Loki had not tried to touch me or kiss me after that night I had rejected him, but some small part of me wished he would do it again.

Though I had felt it to be wrong before, I wanted nothing more now than for Loki to kiss me and touch me, for him to make me feel better as only he knew how. 

After only another moment of indecision, I turned over to face him. He opened his eyes to look at me and I stared at him for a long moment before leaning forward to plant an almost tentative kiss on his lips. 

When I attempted to deepen the kiss, Loki pulled his head back slightly, put his hand on my arm, and whispered, “Stjarna…”

“What?” I said breathlessly, feeling a little more confident and moving closer to him.

“Are you sure?” he breathed, and in that moment I felt such overwhelming love for him. I am sure he was remembering when he had tried to make love to me a couple of weeks earlier and I appreciated his regard for me, but tonight I felt the unmistakable desire to have him and did not want his concern, I only wanted for him to drive all else from my mind…

“Yes,” I murmured, going to kiss him again. “I want to feel you…”

Loki did not do anything at first, but when I pushed my tongue past his teeth, he moved to splay his hand on my back and pulled me even closer to him.

We did not stay like that for long, though; as we kissed, our tongues moving languidly against one another, I shifted and rose up on my arms on either side of him. My hair tumbled down over my shoulders as I pressed against him, feeling his body so hard and warm against mine through the thin fabric of my nightgown.

Beneath the covers, I slid my leg over his hips and lifted up to straddle his waist. Loki was naked and through my nightgown I could feel him pushing enticingly against my center. I bent down and kissed him again, letting my nose brush against his, letting my lips graze his skin. Loki responded, lifting his head to return the kiss and moving to pull my nightgown up.

Where before there had been just this kind of lethargy, now I felt this growing sense of desperation. I wanted to feel him fully and now. I sat up and pulled my nightgown up and off so I was sitting naked on top of him, but before I could do anything else he sat up.

I suddenly became still and watched Loki’s face as he reached up and moved my hair out of the way and over my shoulders. He let one hand come to rest on my upper thigh and the other he placed on my back and pulled me close so our bare fronts were flush against each other. He lifted his face so we could kiss and I raised my hands and tangled my fingers in his black hair.

I relished the delicious warmth of our skin touching like this, how close I felt to him even though we were not yet joined. But there was this empty ache inside me and this wetness pooling between my thighs and I did not feel I could wait much longer. I broke the kiss and feeling him already nearly fully aroused, lifted up on my knees and reached between us to guide him into me.

I sank down and slowly exhaled as I took him into my body. Loki let out a soft groan as he lowered his face and pushed his nose against me. I sat like that for a long moment, eyes closed and lips parted. Gods, how marvelous he felt inside me like this, filling me so completely. He never failed to make me feel like this.

I let my head rest against his as he lightly kissed the space between my breasts and then dragged his lips over until he took my nipple into his warm mouth. I moaned quietly at the sensation and tightened my fingers in his hair.

“Loki,” I breathed, and I moved my hands to cup his face. Though I loved the feeling of his tongue and teeth on my breast, I wanted to kiss him again. I lifted his face and lowered my own and pressed my lips to his, and our kiss was filled with what felt like this gentle desire and subtle melancholy. 

Finally, I broke the kiss and let go of his hair and draped my arms around the back of his neck. Loki put his face to my chest once again, breaths coming heavily against my warm skin, as I began moving indolently against him, slowly rocking my hips.

There were no words between us, but only the sounds of my body moving against his, only the sensual sounds of our mingled breaths, heavy and slow. I moved languidly, attempting only to concentrate on the feel of him inside me, his skin hot against mine, this increasing pressure in my lower belly edging me ever closer, but I did not want to rush this, I just wanted to lose myself and forget everything else.

I whispered his name, almost sounding on the verge of tears, and let go of him and leaned to the side. I pulled him with me and he quickly realized and gently rolled us over and settled between my legs. I stared up at his face, lips parted slightly, as I wrapped my legs around his narrow waist and let my fingers come to rest lightly on his sides.

Loki, still buried fully in me, lowered his face and took my lips sweetly with his, and I wrapped my arms around him and tightened my legs on him. After a moment he broke the kiss and moved to trail tender kisses over my face, kissing away the stray tears that had managed to roll down my cheeks.

I never felt so close to Loki as I did when we made love. I could always forget everything around us and let him fill me, both my mind and my body. There was nothing more intimate to me, nothing more sensual to me, than letting myself succumb completely to him. How I could lose myself when it was just us, just him…

Loki did not move for a long time, but only lay on top of me and kissed me; our bodies were so close together, our heartbeats seemingly beating as one, and everything so warm and comforting and loving and I only held onto him, overwhelmed by this happiness and grief and pleasure.

Finally, Loki’s kisses tapered off and he slipped his arms under mine, supporting himself on his forearms, and began steadily moving his hips. I opened my eyes as he began moving and gazed up at him. Our faces were so close, our noses nearly touching, and our eyes locked on one another. 

I found it hard to keep my eyes open, but I wanted to look at him as he took me. Somehow that made it all the more intimate, but before long Loki made a soft sound and closed his eyes and put his forehead against mine. I breathed his name and he kept moving, kept up with this languorous, deep rhythm, and my breaths became increasingly more ragged as I rose to it. 

I was so mercifully close to tumbling over that precipice and was panting and shifting beneath Loki, lifting up to push even harder against him, digging my nails into his back, curling my toes in anticipation, but he did not respond as I hoped to my desperate little movements. When I turned my head and a whimper escaped my lips, Loki buried his face in my neck and I could feel his parted lips against my skin, could feel his teeth graze me. 

He kissed my cheek and then my jaw and when he breathed my name, his voice slightly shaky, I could tell he was just as close as I was to the end. I turned my face to look back up at him and he kissed me on the lips and murmured, “I love you.”

I did not even have a chance to smile or breathlessly and lovingly return the sentiment; I came not a moment later and my mouth fell open in a silent moan. I could only keep my eyes open for so long; when I closed them, I arched up off the bed and Loki pressed his forehead to mine. All faded from my mind, then, all of my uncertainty and grief and sorrow, everything but Loki; there was nothing but pleasure, nothing but this bliss coursing through my trembling body and filling my mind. 

I whimpered as he continued moving inside me, although a little more slowly for how tight my legs were around him. But just a few seconds later, Loki groaned and his leisurely rhythm faltered and he went still above me and spilled himself inside me. I felt his nails digging into my shoulders, felt him lightly bite me as he found his own release.

And then slowly Loki let his head drop and he pressed his face into the pillow beneath my head. I gradually opened my eyes and closed my mouth and stared up. After a moment, Loki turned his face and kissed the side of my head. 

He lifted up on slightly shaky arms and brushed the hair from my face and gently stroked my flushed cheek with his thumb. I stared wordlessly up at him as he leaned down to kiss me lightly on the forehead and nose and lips.

“I love you, Stjarna,” he whispered affectionately, letting his lips brush against mine.

A grin instinctively tugged at the corner of my lips and I pulled him closer to me and buried my face in his neck, as if I was embarrassed, but I felt this warmth filling me up. Even despite my recent despondency, Loki’s words sent a rivulet of happiness through me.

Loki rolled us onto our sides, pulled out of me, and tangled our legs together beneath the covers. Everything felt hot, but I did not care in that moment; I was already on the verge of falling asleep and in his arms like this was my favorite way.

__

Loki was not in the bed with me upon waking the next morning.

I stretched and laid there for a few minutes in silence, fingers absently playing with the corner of the pillow. I could hear Loki moving around in his bath chamber, but I did not get up.

I thought mostly of the night before and could not help a little smile when I remembered Loki’s words to me. Even after all this time, they never failed to make me happy. I thought, then, of Loki’s understanding in the whole matter, even if technically he could not understand. But I appreciated the way he had been—I knew he was not so typically sentimental, but for me he would be.

Soon enough, Loki emerged from his bath chamber, already bathed and nearly dressed. As he went to his wardrobe, presumably to grab his surcoat, he glanced over and saw that I was awake.

I looked up at him as he came over and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. 

“Good morning,” I said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows and the corner of his lips twitched upwards in a tentative smile. “Good morning.”

“Are you going to Master Hauknefr’s?”

“Yes.”

I gave a little nod and moved to twine my fingers with his, which had been resting on my hip.

“I will take you to Konavefr’s if you want,” he murmured.

I smiled back at him, but shook my head. “Thank you, Loki, but no. You have your lessons.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Be careful, then.”

“I will be,” I said, but then as he went to get up, I caught his hand and he turned back around. I sat up and held the covers up to my breasts.

“Loki? Thank you… for last night.”

He cocked an eyebrow and gave me that little half-smile of his. “It was my pleasure.”

I stifled a laugh, however wrong that may have been concerning the circumstances, but then kissed his lips and let him go.

Loki left shortly after and it was then when I readied myself and left to ride down to the city. 

When I arrived at the house, Konavefr and I embraced. 

“How are you doing?” I asked as I kissed her cheek. When I pulled back to look at her, she smiled sadly at me.

“It will take a lot of time to get used to it… to him not being here. Not waking up next to him…”

I gave a small nod and glanced down at the floor.

“Actually, Stjarnavetr,” Konavefr said, attempting to draw attention away from her previous statement, “I have something for you.”

She led me into their old bedroom, now just hers, and motioned to an object lying on the table against the wall. 

I looked curiously at her before going to unwrap the object. It was flat and square and only perhaps two by two feet in size. I carefully unwrapped the string, only loosely tied, and gently pulled away the cloth.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was a painting of a woman and a little girl sitting on a stone bench in a sunny garden—my mother and I. 

I looked up at Konavefr, who wore a small and vaguely sad smile. 

“Where did you get this?” I whispered incredulously.

“I found it,” she explained quietly, coming to stand next to me to gaze down at the painting I thought had been lost. “I was going through his things upstairs and it was tucked behind some of his unfinished works and wrapped in cloth and twine.”

I looked back down and tears nearly immediately blurred my vision.

“I did not know he had it, he never told me…” Konavefr continued softly. “I did not know he had brought it with him. We did not bring many things from Vanaheim, you know. I believe he was saving it for you.”

My chin trembled at that. Father had kept it all this time? Why had he kept it hidden away? But then I thought perhaps it was because he could hardly bear to look at it. Perhaps Konavefr was right. Perhaps he had been saving it for me.

I attempted to swallow my tears, but when I looked back up at her, I could not hold back and I began to cry. Konavefr wrapped her arms around me and fairly soon she, too, was weeping, and we held each other in our sorrow.

I returned to the palace a few hours later with the painting carefully bundled up so no harm would befall it on the short journey back.

I went straight to Loki’s chambers upon arrival and sat on his bed and studied the painting, every little detail, every discernible brushstroke. Some parts looked newer than the surrounding paint and I would almost have suspected that through the years my father had restored the painting as it aged.

But mostly I studied my mother’s face. Father had captured her beauty perfectly and I could picture her in my mind and even imagine that I could remember that day when we had sat together so Father could paint us.

I cried quietly to myself once, but it was not so much with sorrow that I cried, but some type of longing. What I would not have given to spend one more afternoon with both my mother and father together. Just to hear their voices again, to feel their arms around me, telling me they loved me. I wished I could tell them both that I loved them. Even if I had said it to them every day, it still would not be enough.

And though I knew it was foolish, I could not help my tears. I knew it was useless to imagine such things, to long for something that obviously could never be. I was no stranger to that feeling, but it seemed so much worse now. 

As I cried, I wished Loki was there with me, but he was at his lessons. I knew if I would have interrupted one of his lessons, though, and asked him to be with me, he would have dropped everything in a moment, but I would not do that. I was not so weak that I could not wait to see him until tonight. And so I swallowed my tears, wiped my face, and set the painting on the table in his bedchamber. 

After I had collected myself, I went to the queen’s chambers. I managed to hold myself together for the rest of the day, but looked forward to seeing Loki later tonight. All through dinner I anxiously awaited its end, and when it finally came and I had attended to the queen, I went immediately to Loki’s chambers.

Upon entering, I did not see him. I went to his bedchamber and found him standing by the table. He was holding the painting in his hands, studying it.

Loki glanced up at me when I entered and said, “What is this?”

I walked up to him and looked down at the painting.

“That is my mother.”

Loki looked back down and tilted his head. “She was very beautiful.” And then he gave me a small smile. “You look like her.”

I felt happiness at that. My father had used to tell me that.

“That is you?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “How old were you?”

I studied my own profile, attempting to remember. “Perhaps ten or eleven years old.”

Loki laughed again, more to himself, and continued to keenly study the painting.

I stared at him, almost forlornly now, as he did so. 

I thought back to this afternoon when I had sat on his bed and cried and suddenly fresh tears welled up in my throat and my voice broke. “I love you.”

Loki’s smile fell at my tone and he looked at me oddly, probably for how I was on the verge of tears, but I only took a step forward and wrapped my arms around him. He set the painting down and returned the embrace. I rested my cheek against him and closed my eyes and bit my lip to keep from crying.

“Stjarna, what—”

“We do not say it enough,” I whispered, tightening my hold on him.

Loki was silent for a long moment before kissing the top of my head. “Stjarna, you know that I love you.”

I looked up at him, teary-eyed, and my chin trembled.

“Oh, Stjarna…” he murmured, and then he pulled me closer and gently stroked my hair. Now I could not help it and a little sob escaped me.

“I love you,” I whimpered, pressing my face into his chest. “I love you so much…”

We stood there in silence for perhaps another minute and Loki let me cry before he finally said softly, “Come. Let us go to bed.”

I reluctantly pulled away from him, but he took my hand and led me towards the bed. I went to undress, but Loki stopped my hands and turned me around and loosened the laces on my back. 

He pulled my dress off and I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled my shoes and stockings off while he quickly undressed. Once we were both naked, Loki pulled back the covers and we got into bed and lay on our sides facing one another.

I sought his hand out beneath the covers and squeezed his fingers. “I am glad you are here, Loki.”

I thought of Konavefr and Réttrmund, then; they were both my family, but I did not think they could comfort me like Loki could. Réttrmund could hold me in his arms and Konavefr could console me with her words, but there was something different about Loki that merely his presence brought, but I could not say what it was, only that I craved it and needed it.

Loki only looked at me; he did not say anything, but then was pulling on me, pulling me into his arms, and I went willingly. I breathed in his scent, felt his skin so warm against mine, and felt supremely comforted.

How incredibly thankful I was that he was here to hold me like this. I could not imagine Loki not being here with me; he was always able to console me and lying in his arms like this, I did not feel so alone, and though I knew I would not recover from my father’s death any time soon, I knew it would be made easier with Loki here to comfort me.


End file.
